


A Message

by merulanoir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sex pollen but in a fun and ultimately consensual way, all the feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 15:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: Regis has his ravens keeping an eye on the witcher, when one contract goes awry.





	A Message

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [一个口信](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290591) by [duraxe02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duraxe02/pseuds/duraxe02)



> I think my brain sort of spasmed and this fic fell out.
> 
> Translated to Chinese: [一个口信](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290591)

A raven landed in front of Regis as he opened the door of his crypt. He had been on his way to look at the stars over the lake, but the bird stopped him, prancing back and forth on the dead leaves the oaks had shed. Regis watched it ruffle its feathers and cock its head; a sure sign something of interest had happened.

The ravens were proud, but they liked him; this one seemed to preen under his gaze, even spreading its wings in the autumn moon light, as if inviting him to appreciate the view.

“Well, friend,” Regis said as he crouched down, “what do you wish to say?”

The raven looked at him, and Regis sunk into the calm half-meditative state. He allowed his thoughts drift loose to receive the message.

_A flash of white hair, the clang of the silver sword, unmistakable to his ears because its echo was softer than that of the steel one. Blood, alarm, frustration._

Regis knew Geralt didn’t mind the ravens watching over him. He’d expected the witcher to voice some grievances about the birds, but he had been mistaken. Geralt had seemed, at most, amused that Regis would feel the need to have his fowl keeping an eye on him. Even after the duquessa had left him alone, Geralt had never pointed out the ravens frequenting Corvo Bianco.

Regis was glad of it now. He stood up, taking a deep breath. He smelled the decaying plant life around him, but in reality he was trying to ground himself. Geralt was not in grave danger; if he was, the message wouldn’t have been laced with sheer annoyance. Regis had been unfortunate enough to know how dread tasted in the air when Geralt was afraid of dying, and this was not it.

But the raven had decided to come get him, so he’d go.

***

Regis materialized outside an abandoned homestead. The gate hung on its hinges, and the yard beyond was littered with broken tools and debris; here and there, Regis could see bodies, long since dead. Some kind of a creature had clearly taken over the lone farm. The faint tang of spilled blood still hung in the air, and on top of it, Regis could smell the fresher traces of adrenaline and sweat.

And fresh, mutated blood.

Regis knew the scent of Geralt’s blood so well he would’ve recognized it in his dreams. It had been branded in his memory many years ago, first when patching his friend up from whatever wound or laceration; and then as an enticing gateway to the sensory delights the witcher offered. A wry smile here, a brush against Regis’ arm there, and he had found himself craving more.

Geralt was, and always had been, an outlier. Regis didn’t want to drain him, because then he’d be robbed of the amber eyes flashing in his direction, the slight widening of the slit pupils when Regis made him laugh, and the all-encompassing warmth the witcher seemed to provide without even trying. He’d made Regis feel like a person, rather than a shadow, trying to mimic the movements people performed. When Regis was with Geralt, he felt calm and happy.

Regis followed the splatter of blood to the main building of the farmstead. Everything around him spoke of neglect and oblivion, as if no one had cared about the place and the people enough to come rid it of the monster that had claimed it. Regis wondered what had prompted Geralt to seek it out.

At the threshold, Regis paused. He had been so focused on the scent trail of Geralt’s blood he had managed to miss out the sharp, stinging stench of the monster in question. He looked down, and saw the oxygen grind away the brittle remains of an alp’s bones. The skull was grimacing up at him, mocking him for worrying more about the witcher who had killed her, rather than the one of his kind.

Regis stepped over the crumbling remains into the house, and saw the flickering light coming from the main room. He drew in another deep breath. Witcher potion that made his stomach turn faintly, leather and sweat, blood, silver, and the moldy smell of the building around him. When he could be sure they were alone, he continued walking.

Regis had just enough time to take in the room – the small fire in the hearth, the spread out weapons and armor, the sharp smell that he could only describe as ‘witcher’ – when he heard a sharp breath. It was followed by a potion getting knocked over, and then an annoyed sigh.

“Gods fuckin’ dammit, Regis.”

Geralt scowled at him from the floor, where he had spread out his things. He was leaning against a settee, dressed only in his undershirt and pants.

“Could’ve warned me,” Geralt added, gesturing to the potion that was soaking into the musty carpet. “That was my only dose of white honey.”

Regis stepped closer and squatted down. Geralt regarded him with unusual wariness, and it made him worry.

“Are you alright?” Regis asked. “My ravens called me here.”

Geralt looked away, and only then did Regis take in the slight blush on his skin; he was sweating, and closer up the air was thick with a scent that made the pit of Regis’ stomach tight all of a sudden.

“’M fine,” Geralt muttered. His shoulders slumped. “Locals told me this farm had been ravaged by a vampire, so I decided to come and investigate.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me to accompany you?” Regis chided him as he sat down on the floor. Geralt seemed to shrink back from him, and Regis saw his skin was clammy.

“I didn’t want to risk it. You told me what would’ve happened if you killed Dettlaff,” the witcher said quietly.

Regis sighed. “Geralt, I’ve told you this: you matter to me. I would not see you place yourself in danger if I can help it.” He glanced towards the door. “Alps are not to be trifled with, at any rate.”

“And boy do I know it,” Geralt muttered, still refusing to meet Regis’ eyes. His breaths were deep and controlled, but Regis could sense the stress clinging to him.

“Why did you need the white honey?” Regis asked. “Did you take too much potions?”

Geralt shook his head. His face was pinched. Regis couldn’t resist drawing in another deep breath in order to find out what was wrong, and when the scent hit his palate he stiffened.

Warm, heavy sweat so full of everything; adrenaline, the faint traces of the potion, and beneath it all…

Regis’ eyes widened. “The alp was in heat when she bit you.”

Geralt looked away. His shoulders were stiff, but now that Regis had smelled it, he couldn’t ignore it; arousal was curling around it all, coursing through the witcher’s veins.

“I thought white honey would neutralize the poison,” Geralt managed to get out. “There clearly was something in her fangs. She managed to bite me just when I killed her.”

“Alps go in heat a few times a decade,” Regis said numbly. “You were exceptionally unlucky to catch her in such a time.”

“Great,” Geralt grunted. “How long does it last?”

Regis sighed, and realized too late that in doing so he drew in a fresh waft of the heady, hot scent. He tried to isolate the feeling as he raked his brain.

“Alps usually mate with each other, unless they’ve decided to produce offspring,” Regis said. He had to look the other way, then, because Geralt had turned to face him. His pupils were blown wide, and his mouth was slightly open. Regis felt his breath catch in his throat.

_Not the time._

“What does that mean, Regis?” Geralt was starting to sound agitated. “Plain words, now.”

Regis swallowed. “It means… Forgive me, there is no delicate way to put this: It means you must either reach completion, or suffer through the poison.”

There was a hollow, long silence, during which Regis felt his stomach turn, and then Geralt let out a hoarse laugh.

“Completion? You and your poetic language.”

Regis opened his mouth to say something, but the air seemed to be full of the scent now; arousal and need, mixing with the smoke of the fire, and the sweet scent of the spilled potion. Suddenly, he couldn’t find any words.

Geralt looked at him for a while, and the heaved a breath.

“Well, awkward as this is, you might wanna leave now.” His voice was dry, but Regis could hear the impatience behind it.

“I-” He begun, but then didn’t know what to say. His stomach was getting tight, and only belatedly did he realize he was reacting to the smells and the atmosphere. It was enough to shake him out of his stupor.

“Of course,” Regis said, inwardly grimacing at how hoarse his voice sounded. “I will… I’ll go outside.”

It might not be enough, he thought, to make him forget the way Geralt was smelling; like something to be claimed and mounted. Like someone he had wanted for years, and whom he could never have, because it could ruin everything, and him in the process.

He managed to stand up, but before he got more than one step away, a hand grasped his wrist and stopped him. The skin on skin contact sent a stab of heat through him, and he barely managed to avoid ripping himself away.

Geralt had stood up and was watching him closely. He was flushed, but in the moment Regis felt like the witcher was far more in control of his faculties than he was.

“Regis,” Geralt said carefully, still not letting him go, “what’s wrong?”

Regis had to look away from the wide black of Geralt’s pupils and the sheen of sweat on his cheeks. He tried to hold his breath, but even then it was everywhere; Geralt’s scent, intertwined with the poison making him smell like _his_.

“Nothing,” Regis ground out. Oh elders, why had he marched in so carelessly? He could’ve taken a moment to inspect the corpse and see what had happened.

“Bullshit,” Geralt said. He stepped closer, and Regis was distantly aware of a hand coming to rest against his throat, in the junction of shoulder and neck. The contact sent a trail of hot sparks down his spine.

“Your pulse is fast,” Geralt said slowly. “And you smell different.”

“Geralt, please,” Regis cut him off. “Step back. Now.” He heard how absolutely wrecked he sounded. Maybe he was going to ruin the best thing he’d ever had anyway, because Geralt was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

“You want me.”

The words fell into a deep silence that stretched between them. Regis closed his eyes, because he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to deny it: he wanted.

He had wanted Geralt when the witcher had pushed the sword against his throat after the debacle in Fort Armeria; he had wanted Geralt during the long journey from Belhaven to Toussaint, all the way to Stygga; and when he’d seen the witcher again in Beauclair after intervening in the fight between him and Dettlaff, he’d still wanted. During his long life, that need had been perhaps the most prevalent feeling of all.

Regis nodded. He wouldn’t do Geralt the disservice of lying when the truth was so easy to discern. He felt his insides go stiff and cold at the minute admission, and all the while his senses were assaulted by the hot, demanding want, brought on by the poison.

The first brush of lips against his own almost made Regis recoil. His eyes flew open, and at the same moment Geralt wrapped his arms around him. The witcher must’ve known he would have no hope of holding down a higher vampire, but Regis went slack with shock.

Geralt kissed him softly, slowly, as if they were two lovers in some hidden nook of the Beauclair palace gardens, and not tucked away in a broken house far away from everything. His lips were dry and surprisingly soft.

When Regis’ brain finally caught up, he pulled back. Not enough to dislodge the embrace – he couldn’t, didn’t want to – but enough to look Geralt in the eye. The witcher was smiling like he knew something Regis did not; the expression was insufferable and dear at the same time.

“What,” Regis begun, but then couldn’t find the rest of the words. This close, the smell and the sheer heat were making his head swim. His breath came in short huffs, and each brought in yet more details about the man standing in front of him.

“Regis.” Geralt said with a crooked smile. “You still can’t think I don’t want you back.” He shook his head. “For a smart being, you’re very stupid at times.”

Regis stared at Geralt, and the witcher finally met his eyes. Regis felt every inch of them pressed together, and some dark part inside him coiled tighter.

“Ever since I got you back, I’ve tried to come up with a way to tell you I want you,” Geralt continued when it became apparent Regis wouldn’t be able to utter a word. “And I swear I didn’t plan this thing with the poison, but now you’re smelling so fucking good, and I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

In the short silence, Regis took in the situation. Geralt was holding him tight, and he was growing hard against Regis’ hip. There wasn’t a trace of fear of hesitation in him, and the part of Regis that could sense the aether around humans was serene and wanting, and Geralt was leaning in again.

Regis met him halfway with a growl, kissing the witcher with all the pent-up lust and longing he’d held off all these years. Geralt whimpered at the contact, and Regis was only half aware of backing him up against a wall. He pressed closer, and the moment their hips collided something clicked into place.

Regis moved his mouth down Geralt’s neck, biting, licking, tasting everything he’d thought he would never get to experience. His hands pushed under the thin undershirt, and as his nails scraped against the ribs, Geralt moaned and his hips bucked.

Regis’ cock met Geralt’s in a muted thrust, which was immediately followed by another, and another. Regis allowed his hands to tighten on the hips where they had come to rest, as his mouth continued leaving a trail of bite marks down Geralt’s neck. In a second of clearer thought, he pushed the shirt off, and Geralt surrendered the garment with a happy, breathy laugh.

Oh, how he had wanted to hear that sound from him.

Regis continued kissing everything he could reach, and Geralt just let him, arching into the touch and letting himself hang on for life. When Regis’ mouth found a nipple, the witcher gasped.

“Regis, Regis, please,” he said, voice gruff and dry. “Please.”

Regis knew what he needed. In one strong movement, Geralt found himself flat on his back on the floor. There was surprise in the witcher’s eyes, and it was immediately tempered by Regis’ tongue continuing downwards on his abdomen, tasting everything; if he had been a treasure of sensory delights before, nothing could surely compare to this. Geralt let himself get loud, and the poison seemed to draw forth the basest of his scent, all human and heat and warmth. Regis lost himself in it, and as he dragged the pants out of his way, he suspected he might expire on the spot.

Geralt watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth stretched into a happy, incredulous smile. Regis met his eyes for a moment, trying to hold back enough to make sure this was still allowed; he knew his heart was laid bare in that moment. He had never felt this way before, and he would never have another soul like this, if he could have Geralt.

Regis sunk lower, and as he licked Geralt into his mouth, the witcher suddenly wound up tight. His back arched off the floor, and Regis swallowed him down. He was rewarded with a sharp cry of pleasure, and the smell of lust getting stronger. Even with all the feelings he was experiencing, his instinct was telling him what he needed to do.

He set a ruthless pace, sucking hard and gripping Geralt’s thighs so tight he knew he’d leave bruises. Geralt answered by allowing all the sounds spill free, and Regis felt his heart hurt, because nothing could compare to this.

Right when Geralt was about to come into his mouth, Regis pulled off and pushed his hands lower. Geralt made a surprised, indignant yelp, which was immediately followed by a loud groan when Regis’ tongue pushed into him. Regis sunk into the moment, almost ready to come himself, and then Geralt sobbed as he broke. He came all over himself, and Regis’ heart swelled as he tasted the release in the air.

Geralt took a few moments to pant and gather himself. Regis pushed up again, and came to rest on top of him. When Geralt managed to open his eyes, his gaze was hazy.

“Regis,” he whispered. He sounded so happy it made Regis’ heart clench painfully.

The look of bliss was soon replaced by something confused.

“I need you,” Geralt rasped. His eyes remained hazy, but he was growing hard again.

Regis had known it would go like this. The poison would make the recipient crave much more.

He took a second to finally mist out of the rest of his clothes, and then reached into the satchel. When Geralt saw the vial of clear oil, his eyes brightened and he bit his lip. He kept panting, and as Regis thumbed the cork off, Geralt seemed to gather himself a bit.

“Go on,” he whispered. “I want you.”

Regis made an attempt to pour some oil on his fingers, but Geralt caught him by surprise. In one smooth motion, he twisted them around and came to straddle Regis. He plucked the vial from Regis’ fingers and let it drip all over his hand. When the vial was empty, it was chucked away, and Regis watched with wide eyes as Geralt reached for him. The moment the callused fingers wrapped around his cock, Regis gasped. It was too much, and not enough, and Geralt kept looking at him like all his hopes had come true at once.

Regis didn’t know what Geralt was aiming for, but when the witcher simply moved up and guided Regis to his ass, he had to pause.

“Wait, wait,” Regis panted. “You can’t- I need to-”

Geralt grinned as he sunk down, and Regis whacked his head against the floor when all his body seemed to come alive at once. Geralt didn’t stop, didn’t give any indication he was in pain, and then Regis could tell he was as deep as one could be.

When he managed to pry his eyes open, Geralt was smiling down at him. His chest was glistening with sweat in the light of the fire.

And the smell. Regis knew he would never tire of this, that he’d be glad to spend the rest of eternity with this reckless man. His heart felt full and happy like never before.

Geralt started to move, and if Regis had harbored a thought of being in control of the situation, he had to abandon it there and then. Geralt rode him at a relentless pace, gasping on occasion, and all the time he held Regis’ gaze; his eyes were warm and sure, full of relief and giddy happiness.

Regis felt his orgasm creep down his spine, and Geralt must’ve seen it. Regis wrapped a hand around Geralt’s cock, and as he started to stroke, his lover’s face crumbled into a blissful grin. He clenched around Regis, and maybe it was the poison, or maybe it was the long wait, but when Regis came, his mind went completely silent.

He was distantly aware of Geralt collapsing on top of him. Regis wrapped his arms around him, not wanting to let go for a moment. He knew the time for hesitation and discussions would follow, but he wanted to ease that by showing what this had meant; he wanted to let Geralt know he’d always be wanted, and that he’d never be alone.

The fire was burning low by the time Regis pulled back enough to look Geralt in the eye.

“How are you feeling?”

Geralt smiled in a lazy, happy sort of way.

“Splendid, now that I think of it.”

Regis chuckled, even as he rolled his eyes. Geralt looked at him knowingly.

“Don’t you go and overthink this,” he said as his fingers brushed through Regis’ hair. “I meant what I said.”

“So did I,” Regis told him. For once, his chattering mind stayed quiet and calm.

Geralt heaved a happy sigh. “How about we go see if this ruin has a decent bed? We can go back home tomorrow.”

Regis smiled. “That sounds like a good idea.”


End file.
